With the pressure of finals off my shoulders, I really wanted to do a little bit of writing after just writing research papers and the like. Instead of trying to write something that I will probably never finish, I though I would write something that could stand alone as a single story, but still retain some room for development should I make the decision to continue later down the road. Thanks for humoring me with a read. I hope this faculty of the forums continues to remain popular!

Yellow moonlight slowly bled into the windows of thirteen SCAMPER units. Their newly camouflaged paint melted seamlessly into the cold air, and the newly installed stealth engines were operating fluidly and at full capacity. Each SCAMPER unit housed one dozen of SACT’s best sharpshooters, special operatives, and elites. Several hundred feet above the fiery pits of Huntor’s Crest, the men nervously awaited orders from their commanding officers.

“This is SACT HQ, receiving contact from SACT Battalion “Butterfly”. Radar indicates the battalion has positioned itself perfectly over the drop zone. Radar also indicates all personnel are in top fighting shape. You have permission to begin the operation at your digression.”

The officer piloting the largest of the SCAMPER units allowed himself a nervous swallow. For months, he and his soldiers had been running drills to prepare for this moment. He placed a twitching finger on the transceiver.

“Does your radar show any sign of the Fusion?” he asked calmly.

“Negative,” was the quick response. “It seems to have made itself scarce. It has been holed up in this area for months now. I’m sure it was immediately able to detect the presence of you and your fleet, despite our precautionary measures. Do not be surprised.“

“I am not surprised…still don’t like it though.”

“You have permission to begin the mission whenever you feel the opportunity has presented itself. Good night and SACT HQ wishes you and your men good luck.” The transceiver indiscriminately gurgled, and the connection was ended.

The man’s head dived into his hands, his palms saturated with sweat. He began to weep. For nearly one year, a particularly nasty Fusion had seized control of the region, and had sent all the soldiers dispatched to purge the valley of its infection on a one way trip down the river Styx. When one SCAMPER unit proved unable to expel the monster, two were sent shortly after. When those two were shot down, four more were prepped in retaliation. The cycle continued for several months, much to the chagrin of organization. Their resources wearing thin and other Fusions cropping up like weeds every day, SACT was left with no other option but to pool all their available SCAMPER units and make one final attempt to blow the monster off the map. A massive air strike had been ordered.

Such a history did little to calm the pilot’s nerves. Why should his battalion succeed when so many others before him had failed? Numbers did not seem to make much of an impression on this Fusion, and they sure did nothing to intimidate it. Even hovering several hundred feet in the air had proved to be a futile gesture in defense. The Fusion exercised a brutal control over every square inch of Huntor’s Crest; the air was just an extension of its playground. Checking his watch with his fingers, now greasy with sweat, the pilot began signaling to his battalion.

“We will begin the operation immediately. I want each and every payload dropped at precisely the right time. Not one second too early, and not one second too late. It already knows we are here, so drop your load and let’s jet outta here before heads start to roll…”

At his command, the SCAMPERS began adjusting their altitude and realigning their formation for maximum efficiency. The process of drifting across the sky silently was slow work. When the exercise was complete, the thirteen flying bombs blanketed the night sky. They were arranged in the shape of a heart. The countdown started.

“T-minus twenty seconds until all prepared payloads will be dropped. Please use this time to make any last minute adjustments to your coordinates...”

As the pilot began plugging in the few remaining coordinates into his SCAMPER, he heard a sharp noise from beyond the armored walls of the SCAMPER. Something was knocking. From outside the SCAMPER. Several hundred feet in the air. He swallowed nervously, and very tenderly placed his ear to the floor. It was very cold, but it was not this that made his ear’s curdle. From below the ship’s belly, a cruel voice breathed a soft whisper.

“Watch your feet, bro! If you spill Ms. Rixie’s snacks, she’ll take the cost right out of both of our hides.”The young man about to tumble haphazardly steadied himself. Stacked high in his arms were snacks wide enough in variety to pale a rainbow. The mountain of food nearly reached the ceiling.

“If you are so worried about getting chewed out Ross, why don’t you lend me a hand with some of these?” asked the unhappy man turned pack mule. “If you would just shoulder half of this mess, we’d get back to her twice as quickly. Ms. Rixie wasn’t blessed with a great deal of patience you know…”His comrade tossed up his hands and cradled the back of his head in his palms.

“Nope! I asked you the very same thing during the last snack run, and you said ‘no way bro, you carry the junk food’. You Goship, are on your own.”

His friend frowned, but his unhappy glare was veiled by potato chip bags and gummy bear packs. “All right, all right. Fair enough. But when we get back, make sure she doesn’t get a bottle of pop that has been too shaken up. If the bottle explodes and all that equipment gets drenched in sugar, we’ll be out of a job.”

“I can’t help what the woman grabs for first! When she gets a sugar craving, those hands just grab whatever happens to be in front of them. I happen to be rather fond of my hands and fingers, thanks.”

“She won’t bite them off!”

“The heck she will!” exclaimed Ross in despair.

The normally somber halls of SACT Headquarters were unusually full of life that afternoon, which only made the exercise of transporting several dozen pounds of junk food even more difficult. Hired as interns, the two young men had befriended each other when they were assigned as assistants to the head of the Bureau of Fusion Intelligence Retrieval . However, the head of the bureau had a bit of a sweet tooth, and the young interns found themselves more often than not making trips to vending machines instead of getting valuable job experience.

“I think I am going to stop pooling my funds for school and just break down and buy the woman a vending machine,” said Goship. “Then she can stock it herself and save us the trouble of hauling back all this tooth decay.”

The men rounded a corner and came to a door. Inside lurked a hungry Rixie shaped monster. Ross gave his friend a hearty pat on the back, pushing him and his sweet cargo flying.

“After you, brother. You’d best drop that stash as soon as you get inside.”

“Yo-you’re merciless! Don’t just shove me inside. I’ll get eaten!”

But his cry fell upon deaf ears. The door to the bureau was flung open, and Goship tumbled head over heels onto the floor. Gumdrops and popcorn balls fell from the sky like fat drops of rain, and a few bottles of soda pop burst in mid air. Cola flowed across the floor like wine and Goship let out a whine. He might as well have been a sheep wrapped in meat and thrown into a den of lions. Much to Goship’s disappointment, Ross was far from empathetic to his distress. Munching on a caramel popcorn ball, he casually wandered into the floor. Only after downing the sweet and salty ****tail did he stop to pull his bud from beneath the mountain of sweets. As he did, both Goship and Ross saw a purple flash from the corner of their eyes.

“Didya see that?” asked Ross nervously.Goship nodded. A dull shuffling noise could be heard coming from the mound of sweets. Both men watched as fat ripples rolled across the potato chip bags, lollipops, popcorn balls, and sour gumdrops. Something was swimming beneath the snacks. Their apprehension turned to amusement and stifled snickers as they watched the snacks bounce up and down like waves on the sea.

“How longer you think she can stay down there?” called Ross to his friend.

“Gee Ross, search me!” answered Goship, loudly scratching the back of his head. “I think her record is about two minutes. “

Goship then hopped about on one foot and removed a shoe.

“I don’t know about you bro, but I am kinda hungry. I’m sure the chief won’t mind if I grab a quick bite to eat…”

He then lobbed the shoe across the room and towards the sea of snacks. However, this shoe would never be able to bath in the sweets. For this shoe had just committed the ultimate sin. It had dared to invade the airspace surrounding Ms. Rexie’s stock of sweets. Such a crime would not be forgiven.

“Yaaaaaaah!”

The sound of rustling potato chip bags filled the air. Out from the depths of the food ocean breached the mighty Chief Rexie. She was very petite, but a little bit on the chubby side. Much shorter than both young men, her round glasses danced on her plump nose as her long purple hair bathed her entire body. She looked very pleased with herself. Rolling on her back in mid air in a whale like fashion, she snatched the flying shoe from the air and tossed it aside. Then, as swiftly and gracefully as she had surfaced, the woman dived headfirst into the snacks.

“Oh dear…” said Ross with a smirk. “You saw that face of hers. I’ll fish her out.”

Reaching into a closet, he pulled out a fishing pole. Baiting it with a sticky bun, he lazily tossed the rod over his head with both hands.

Ross flung the rod over his head with all his might, and Goship watched as the sticky bun sailed across the ceiling and landed in the very center of the sweets. Ross licked his lips, his eyes never leaving the waves and ripples that left evidence of Ms. Rexie’s trail. This would require intense and unwavering focus. The moving mound of sweets stopped abruptly, and shuffled back and forth. She had picked up the scent of the bun. Cinnamon flavored. And with raisins no less! The Rexie shaped mound began to circle the baited hook hungrily. As soon as Ross felt a sharp tug on the bait, he gave the fishing rod a great heave. Rexie took flight. When she finally stopped squirming on the hook, she could be seen chewing on the sticky bun, her lips clamped down tightly around her gooey prize.

“You tricked me...”she mumbled between bites, “Phooey…”

“Yup, we sure did. But if I hadn’t fished you out, goodness knows how long you would have stayed down there,” said Ross triumphantly. “Besides, you do have a job to do, Ms. Rexie.”

Finished with her meal, Rexie spat out the hook and bounced onto the floor. She began coco on her thumb, trying to get every last speck of sugar.

“Not anymore. You two lugs took so coco long hauling back my precious snackies, I managed to piece together all the footage. My job for the day is done.”

Rexie then crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip.

“I’m pouting!” she said defiantly. “And still hungry.” Both Goship and Ross exchanged amused looks.

“Well, if you are done putting together the footage, why don’t we all grab some snacks and proof it before we send it off to the higher ups?” asked Goship. Ross nodded in agreement.

“It would probably be for the best. Even if you spend more time snacking than teaching us, we interns are determined to at least learn something from this experience.”

“I teach you plenty. You just haven’t realized it yet,” answered Rexie with a twinkle in her eye. Her eyes then narrowed and returned to their normal sleepy look. Rexie threw up her hands. Ross raised a finger as if to ask something, but stopped. Rexie frowned and waved her plump arms in the air longingly, still sitting where the fishing rod had dropped her.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked with a whine. “Carry me back to my seat to I can start up the footage.”

“You’ve got legs Ms. Rexie…”

“Yes, and you have arms. Young, strong arms. I ate too much and I do not feel like moving. Carry me.”

“I refuse,” said Goship defiantly, throwing out his hand. “And do not use the ‘age’ argument. You are not one day older than me. You’re abusing our services as interns. I think you should walk back yourself.”

“You will carry me, Goship.”

“I will do no such thing. Ask Ross.”

“You will carry me, Ross.”

“My arms are aching from fishing your hungry self out of the snack pile. Make Goship do it.”

“Fishing exercise? You didn’t haul ten pounds of junk food up three flights of stairs to get here. I think you should carry the princess.”

“Will one of you just carry me? All this arguing is making my tummy hurt…”

In the end, Rexie was forced to rise to the occasion by herself. Pleased she was not. The lights were dimmed, and both interns pulled up a chair.

“What type of footage were you asked to restore, Ms. Rexie?” inquired Goship.

Rexie’s plump fingers nimbly danced across the keyboard, and a projector slowly lowered itself from the ceiling. Ross took it upon himself to roll down the projector screen.

“Did you hear about the SCAMPER massacre at Huntor’s Crest one week ago?” she asked, not lifting her eyes from her work.

Goship and Ross nodded.

“Of course we have. HQ has been up in arms about it ever since the news broke. From what I have been able to glean from the rumors, one enemy unit took down the entire fleet before they even had time to drop a single payload. Every last one was blasted right out of the sky,” said Goship snapping his fingers.

“I assume the footage was recorded via satellite?” asked Ross lazily. Rexie nodded. “See,” she said, “you have learned something from me. According to my briefing, this was not the first time this has happened either. HQ wants me to restore the footage and give them my analysis.” Rexie then swiveled in her seat and jabbed a finger at both interns.

“And it was not easy, mind you. It was a miracle I was even able to retrieve the footage in the first place. And even after I retrieved it, the resolution was the pits. I’m taking ‘pirated video with Hebrew subtitles’ bad. Only by dissecting the footage frame by frame was I able to render it watch worthy. I thought my eyes were going to rot right out of my skull.”

A kernel of popcorn fell from Goship’s hand and broke apart as it struck the floor. Much to his surprise, Rexie did not lunge at it. Instead, her voice deepened and her sleepy eyes grew narrow.

“You boys are going to want to put the snacks down. Trust the woman who put the footage together. You are better off viewing with an empty stomach.” Goship bit his lip guiltily and let his eyes fall to the floor.

“Chance!”

In one fluid movement, Rexie fell from her seat and rolled across the floor, snatching Goship’s popcorn bag right from under his nose. Letting herself have a cry of victory, she hopped to her feet and scurried atop his head before her popcorn-less victim knew what had hit him.

“Mine!”

Ross frowned at his friend’s misfortune. “What happened to that aching stomach of yours?”

“Hush now boys…” answered Rexie as she munched on her popcorn. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a remote control. “The footage is starting. Pay close attention. As my interns and assistants, I want your input when the run is complete.”

Rexie’s finger clicked the button, and the projector lit up with a buzz. After a few moments, the picture came into focus. Goship and Ross counted thirteen SCAMPER units, arranged in heart formation. The black clouds rolled across the sky a few feet beneath the humming hulls and purring engines of the machines. All seemed well.

“The first five minutes of the footage is just them working themselves into position,” Rexie told them. “Nothing happens until right about here.” She began to fast forward through the footage. As the tape rolled, Ross shot out a hand.

“Stop the tape for a second…” he requested. “I thought I saw something poke out of the clouds.” Rexie nodded.

“Good. You noticed it. I have a hunch that red speck is our culprit. Let me set the camera so we can trace its movements.”

Several black boxes surrounded the heavily pixilated red speck as the camera zoomed in. Figures and equations danced in the corner of the screen as the resolution of the film began to adjust. The figure then became recognizable. Flying towards the SCAMPER units a la “Superman” was a Fusion cloaked in what appeared to be a red hoodie. With arrogant grace and fluidity it carved a path across the cold night sky. Rolling onto its back, the monster sunk its hands into the pockets of the hoodie and smirked. It slowly began to lower its altitude until it was level with the very bottom of one of the SCAMPER units. The Fusion then softly placed its green hands on the ship’s underbelly. Drawing itself even closer to the machine, it placed its chest firmly against the ship. Then, slowly closing its eyes, the Fusion planted a kiss on the SCAMPER’s underbelly. It then appeared to whisper something.Goship strained his eyes.

“I am afraid I cannot read lips. What did it say?”

“I am unsure,” answered Rexie, “but I believe it said ‘G’day mate…’”. She then heard her other intern let out a sigh of disgust.

“My word…” breathed Ross, “What did the little freak do to the SCAMPER?”

Goship’s eyes snapped back onto the ship. The Fusion was gone, and its memento kiss was beginning to fester. The spot where its infected lips had touched the cool metal of the machine was frothing and bubbling violently. Green veins rich in Fusion Matter began sprouting from the epicenter of the smooch like weeds. They wasted no time spreading across the entire SCAMPER. Seconds later, the ship was consumed in a terrible explosion. The other units immediately scrambled and broke formation. Two of the ships were lost in the panic, as their pilot’s succeed in doing the Fusion’s work for it by pitifully careening into a brother ship. Two more explosions lit up the sky as their respective payloads detonated with magnitude unimaginable.

The ten remaining units backed up into a giant circle, bumper to bumper. The clouds below then began to crackle with green lighting, and out from the depths of the water vapor rose the Fusion. Oversaturated and grossly bloated with the Fusion Matter exuded by the Fusion while it had been hiding inside of them, the clouds fell from the sky as if they were made of lead. One of the clouds clipped the engine of SCAMPER; its comrades scattered mere seconds before another massive explosion. The resulting shockwave blew back the hoodie veiling the monster’s face. An evil spinach colored bowl cut dropped over its red eyes. This display was not enough to deter one unit from making a desperate charge.

Spreading its legs wide, the monster ****ed its head and threw up a single middle finger. Moments before being run down, the Fusion shot of its finger to block the several tons of steel careening towards it. The unit went from mach two to zero miles per hour in one second, its attacking power crushed by a single finger. Several of the pilots were thrown through the SCAMPER’s windshield. More veins then began sprouting from the point of impact. Waving the grime from its finger with a disgusted look on its face, the Fusion returned its attention to what was left of the battalion as its victims sank into the clouds. Their ranks reduced to a mere fraction of their original power, the SCAMPER units were left embarrassingly quiet and still. What could they do? None of their formations were viable attack options now that much of their offensive line had been snuffed out. And playing things defensively only encouraged their opponent to pick up the attacking reigns on play roughly.

Withdrawing from its hoodie pockets what appeared to be a pair of headphones and a walkman, the Fusion closed its eyes allowed itself to become lost in the music. Rocking a green body to the beat of techno, the Fusion began to dance and jitter across the sky. The SCAMPER units merely hovered in the air, unable to comprehend the strange display. Was it bored? Throwing its hands behind its head, the monster began to grapevine and knife through the air. As it continued to shimmy unrestrained, the atmosphere grew increasingly more warm and the air more sautrated with Fusion matter. The windows of the surviving SCAMPER units began to sweat and fog. With every flick of its finger and shake of its head, more and more fusion matter was diffused into the atmosphere. The monster continued dancing by clapping its feet together and pumping its hands up and down. Turning its back to the armada of enemies, the Fusion cart welled and rocked side to side as it evaded a volley of missiles. The Fusion then abruptly increased its altitude, and grabbed hold of its feet. Curling the appendages so the balls of its feet were parallel with its back, the monster surrendered itself in the embrace of a great free fall. Tearing through the attacking SCAMPER like a cannonball, the monster’s dance moves bled straight into a mach moonwalk that sent the demon dancer crashing into one more unit, detonating it on impact. Hands on its hips, it continued to sashay at unfathomable speeds, carving up the atmosphere with its signature groove; and all the time, its eyes clamped tightly shut and head rocking gently to a techno tempo.

"Bea-u-tiful wor-ld...I shall make you bleed, I shall make you bleed, make you bleed green, just like me..."

As Goship and Ross sat watching the spectacle, their mouths began to grow dry. The sight of the monster ravaging their comrades in such a casual and disrespectful manner made their blood boil and froth with tension. Explosions were synchronized perfectly with the sound of slaughter. It was nothing more than a rave; a rave held several thousand feet high in the sky. The moon was the monster’s disco ball, and the nights sky its dance floor. The SCAMPER units were nothing more than cheap fireworks used as substitutes for glow sticks and black lights. When the last unit has finally fallen, the Fusion broke into a flamboyant chicken dance of victory. It then slowly sank back into the clouds, still rocking its green body to the beat...

When the footage finally wrapped up, Goship and Ross left the bureau without saying a word. They had agreed to submit their analysis in writing in the next month or so. Her office now free of her interns influence, Rexie quickly burned the footage onto a compact disc. Tommorow, she would have to hand deliver this data to the director of SACT.